


Come and get your love

by talktendotome



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, PWP, blowjob, gratuitous kissing, haha nice, i cant write porn w/o them saying i love you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 00:01:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6172000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talktendotome/pseuds/talktendotome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All it takes is a mischievous swing of his hips, but it always ends so well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come and get your love

**Author's Note:**

> this was kenzie's bday present like a year ago and im posting it for the people

Peter turns away from the seedy bar’s alien equivalent to a jukebox, there’s a swing in his hip and the tight pants very clearly accentuate the movement. Peter’s about to get into some trouble. He’s three drinks in, not that he can’t hold his liquor, but three’s when he starts getting frisky. And when Peter gets frisky, people notice. It’s hard not to ,really, a beautiful man rolling his hips to the music’s rhythm without any shame or reservation, the way a sheen of sweat highlights his features. People watch him like the opening scene of a porno—with a perverted interest.

  
Yondu leans back in his chair, he knows this show, he knows it’s all for him. All the gyrating, slurred speech, the dense sweet air of need hanging on his once lanky body—it’s for Yondu. Ever since the day he caught a nineteen year old Peter muttering his name as he clumsily jerked himself off. There had been a lot of tension to begin with, neither one wanted to just come out and say it. After all, Yondu had practically raised him, it was weird, but after a couple of weeks of avoiding and ignoring, of awkwardly shuffling around each other; Yondu pulled Peter into his bunk and kissed him roughly. And Peter went off, kissing and nipping any part he could get his mouth on. They ended up a sweaty mess of rutting up against the wall, Peter came in his pants. He blushed but dropped to his knees to suck Yondu off. That’s all she wrote: fuck buddies, friends with benefits, whatever you want to call it without calling it love. They fucked constantly.

  
And one night, they were out at bar, not unlike this one, Peter found out how to really make his Captain tick. Peter had a few drinks and he leaned, sloppy, on the bar. Somebody started sweet-talking him, telling him how pretty he was. Hands inched out to caress a slouching shoulder. A face moved in for a kiss, Yondu came smashing in real quick. Knocked that guy out, he dragged his boy out to the alley and kissed him something fierce; muttering ‘mine, mine, mine’ in between kisses and bites. When they get back to ship, Peter gets fucked as reverently as he was kissed in the alley. Once it was established that flirting got that response Peter started making a point to smile and charm people every chance he got, and to swing himself around—ask for trouble. He wasn’t sure why, and he really didn’t want to examine that particular can of worms, but he really, really got off on Yondu wanting him so badly, being jealous and needy.

  
After a few cycles of drunk, flirty Peter being jealousy fucked by Yondu in an alley; the older man finally caught on. Not that he let his boy know that he knew what was going on; and certainly it didn’t make Yondu any less possessive. But, there was small comfort knowing Peter only wanted him. And there was larger comfort in the way Peter gasps out the litany of ‘yours, yours, yours’ as bruises circle his neck.

  
Just remember it’s not love. Not the big L-word. Certainly, positively not. No.

  
Because people in love don’t play those fuck-me games like Peter and Yondu. People in love don’t have to bite and nip and suck until the other is marked as theirs. People in love don’t give mind-boggling blowjobs in overheated cockpits when the crew is asleep. And Peter and Yondu are not in love.

  
A woman, a man, a figure—not that it matters—approaches Peter with an inviting smile and a drink in their hand. And, because of the keen fact that Yondu doesn’t love Peter means that Yondu snatched his boy away before any sort of exchange could take place. Tonight, Yondu didn’t want to play the games. He just wanted to kiss Peter, over and over until their lips were swollen and they were panting.

  
Peter has no disagreement to that course of action. Their lips meet in the same way they always do; sweet and chaste at first but quickly with the intention to bruise and consume. Yondu keeps his hand on Peter’s lower back, steering him back to the ship as they shuffle along in a pretty passionate embrace. They had to stop every block or so to get their bearings and catch their breath. Yondu always took that moment to add another bite to Peter’s neck’s growing collection of marks and love bites. Peter grasps Yondu’s should and sighs breathily.

  
“You always did know how to get me going.”

  
“Shut up, boy. I’m just tryin ta get you back to the ship.”

  
“So you can fuck me?” He asks hopeful, as his hands lace their way around Yondu’s neck.

  
In another life, in another time, Yondu would’ve blushed at that. But, instead he just pulls the clingy body away from him and farther down the side street. Too many stumbles and not enough kisses later, they board the ship. The couple walk straight side by side so if any crew member happens upon them. Not that the entire crew doesn’t know. But they let Yondu believe that they don’t. They walk slightly too fast for a normal pace and when they turn the last long hallway to the captain’s quarter; Peter kisses Yondu then bolts for the door, an almost childish race, Yondu runs behind him. The door slams shut as soon as boots pass its threshold.

  
Peter smiles sheepishly at Yondu; the way he always seems to do. Ever since those days of trailing behind the captain like a scrawny shadow. He always seems surprised Yondu pays any attention to him at all.

  
Now that they’re here, there isn’t much in the way of foreplay; both of them already hard and necks covered in hickeys. Yondu is a seasoned veteran of clothing removal, he makes quick work of Peter’s pants and shirt; leaving him only in damp, tented boxers, in the time it takes for Peter to peel off only a jacket. He huffs indignantly at Yondu as though he can’t believe that Yondu’s clothes just don’t fall off on their own and why do they have so many clasps and zippers.

  
“Give it here, boy” Yondu commands grabbing his belt buckle back. He pushes Peter onto the bed. Yondu throws his shirts off, and unclips his belt. His pants sag off his hips as he leans down to straddle Peter—who’s as wide eyed as a puppy, staring up with lust and reverence—they grind their hips and kiss for the millionth time tonight. Moans and gasps, heavy breaths and profanities fill the air as the start to writhe together on the bed. The movements pulls Yondu’s pants even farther down, and Peter yanks his boxers off. Yondu pushes him back down, and straddles him again.

  
“Stay still.”

  
“Fuck, Yondu.”

  
“I’m planning on it.” He cracks with a wide smile, as he scoots down Peter’s body. His hands slide down solid flanks of muscle, not the string bean of a kid that used to get in the way. He grips Peter’s hips and shoots him a sly wink.

  
Peter was not expecting the hot tongue to lick his cock, and he really wasn’t expecting Yondu to start sucking him off with so much enthusiasm; swallowing him down and bobbing his head, and the hands on his hips are clenched. Peter has no choice but to lay back and moan and sigh because it feels so good, Yondu feels so good.

  
“I’m not gonna last. Fuck.”

  
Yondu slides his mouth off of Peter with an obscene pop, and starts nipping and sucking on Peter’s inner thighs.

  
“Fuck, I didn’t say stop, come on,” He says it with a sob, pleading with his eyes, he’s got his arms tangled in the sheets he’s gripping.

  
“Have mercy, please,” Yondu was always the right combination to make Peter into jello, the right amount of rough and soft to make him beg for it. And when Yondu smiles and grunts,

  
“Anything for my baby boy,” before going back down on him, Peter thinks he’s going to die. Yondu’s mouth is so hot and wet around him, every once and while there’s a little nick of those fucking teeth, that Peter’s on the edge in no time. Peter arches his back like a cat, he throws himself into him orgasm.

  
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he reaches down and grabs Yondu’s hand, still tight on his hip, when he comes. He looks like a renaissance painting the way his sweat sheened body is wrapped in the sheets, the way Yondu swallows and crawls back up to kiss him. Peter’s boneless and beautiful, and Yondu bites his jaw.

  
“I love you, boy.”

  
“I love you, too.”


End file.
